Letters From Rivendell
by Melylott S. Banks
Summary: Frodo and Bilbo corespond and grow closer in the years following the Party. Pre-quest, AU Reviews greatly welcome
1. Prologue and Author's Note

Letters From Rivendell  
  
***Author's Note and Introduction***  
  
This story came about from a variety of things, not the least of which was my reading of JRR Tolkien's "Letters". I recommend this book to everyone; it is a wonderful, insightful look into the mind of a creative genius, and a generally very interesting and hobbity fellow. :)  
  
Anyhow, you'll notice if you have read letters, that there will indeed be a visible influence of some of the good Professor's letter writing quirks, pet names, etc. I find him very similar in character to Bilbo, which is an influence as well.  
  
This story is clearly AU in it's premise, as it is implied that Bilbo and Frodo had no contact for the 17 years between the Party and the Quest, but I just couldn't stand the thought of them not talking for that long! Thus, this fic. This can be considered a sequel of sorts to BEB, but can be read on its own, as well.  
  
I hope new and old readers of my work will enjoy it. I don't own any characters, places, or anything. I only love them so much it hurts.  
  
********************  
  
Prologue  
  
It had been a month since Bilbo left, a month since the Long Expected Party, and a month since Frodo had been truly happy at Bag End.  
  
The place that was once home now felt a bit lonely, different and sad, without the comforting presence of the one the young Baggins most loved. There was no longer the sound of shuffling papers to wake him up early in the morning from his uncle's study, no longer the wonderful breakfasts Bilbo prepared, and no more cheerful "Good morning, my lad!" to greet him at the start of the day.  
  
But most of all, Frodo missed just being with Bilbo, simply having his beloved uncle there for him every day. Their long fireside talks, their walks together; going adventuring through the woods, the soft voice that would lull him to sleep when he fell ill.  
  
He couldn't understand why Bilbo would simply abandon him, leaving him alone as master of the old smial. Why had there been no news, no letters? Frodo asked himself this every day, refusing to give up a sliver of hope his uncle had not forgotten him.  
  
Then, one day, the first letter arrived. 


	2. Letter One Frodo

Letter One--Frodo  
  
It was a crisp fall day when Frodo awoke to the sound of a clamor coming from Bag End's kitchen. Startled, he jolted out of bed, and hurried in his nightclothes to see what had happened.  
  
Rubbing his eyes of sleep, he padded into the large room, and his mouth dropped open at the sight that greeted him.  
  
Frodo's favorite cousin, Merry Brandybuck, stood at the stove cooking what appeared to be his best effort at a breakfast: smoking sausage and browning eggs. Frodo could smell the ashy aroma coming towards him and wrinkled his pointed nose.  
  
"Good morning, Frodo!" Called Pippin happily. "Merry and I are making breakfast!" Frodo's cousins were staying with for the day while their parents went to market and visited their Hobbiton friends, so his life had certainly been more frantic as of late.  
  
"I can...see that, Pippin-love," Frodo smiled. "Would you care for some help?" Merry thought for a minute, and then nodded. Frodo joined his cousin at the stove and prepared to salvage their burnt food.  
  
Soon Frodo had managed to convince Merry, that although he appreciated his efforts to cook, the scrambled eggs were better left abandoned. Most of the sausages could be saved, and Pippin delighted in helping prepare the thick toast with gobs of butter. Frodo cooked some wonderful omelets with mushrooms, and the three cousins sat down soon after, and began to eat and talk with hobbity relish.  
  
"Oh, Frodo," Merry said conversationally, his mouth full of food, "I almost forgot to mention, Pip and I got the morning post for you." Pippin smiled proudly.  
  
"Thank you, lads. Where did you put it?" Merry handed Frodo the small pile while his cousin sifted through it. There were only three letters. One was from, to Frodo's mild embarrassment, his Aunt Menegilda back at Buckland. It was a recipe for her famous chicken broth, one of the only things that seemed to help his dreadful head colds. The recipe was a secret, and Bilbo had been one of the few privy to it, but Frodo had never learned it, himself. He smiled, and opened the next letter. It was from Lobelia. He scowled, and immediately threw it in the rubbish. But the last letter caught his eye, and he picked it up curiously.  
  
The envelope was blank, except for his name elegantly written in gold script, and was on fine parchment flecked with tiny bits of silver. Merry and Pippin oohed and aahed while Frodo gingerly opened it, and began to read.  
  
My Dearest, the letter began,  
  
I suppose I must begin with an apology. I should have written you sooner, and I know I should get right to explaining why I have not.  
  
As I assume you know, I am in Rivendell. Lord Elrond is a most gracious host, and I have settled in quite nicely. My room is larger than the whole of Bag End, it seems! It is certainly unusual to be surrounded day in and day out by things that were made for the Big Folk, and not hobbits such as ourselves. But, as usual, I digress.  
  
I suppose time passes differently in Imladris than it does in the Shire. There is an elvish way about it, you know, and you seem to forget the passing of days and hours. The elves are used to it, but your old uncle is not, and before I knew it almost two weeks had passed without a word to you. I cannot apologize more profusely, my dearest boy, and I have requested a calendar and pocket watch from Lord Elrond so this unfortunate situation will not happen in the future. I'm afraid that I am becoming increasingly forgetful, and did not remember to bring either with me on my journey.  
  
I truly wish you could see Rivendell, my lad. It looks much the same as it did when I saw it for the first time, but sadder, somehow. The leaves are a muted red and gold, and I have never before seen autumn touch this elven city. A truly curious thing.  
  
But enough about me. How are you doing, now? I miss you dreadfully, and I think of you at every spare moment. There are quite a few of those here, let me tell you. Tell me everything you are up to. I do not care if you find it mundane, I never realized how much I miss home, and any news of it will be greatly appreciated.  
  
I'm afraid there is not much more to say, as the comings and goings here are few, and I have spent most of my time on the journey, in my room, or with Lord Elrond. I cannot wait to finally discover my way around this maze that is Imladris, and to meet the sons and lovely daughter Elrond talks so highly of. I speak of you to him often, and he seems just as interested in the Shire folk as I am in the elves!  
  
Once again, I miss you more than I can say. Send my fondest regards to the Gamgees, especially your Sam and the dear Gaffer. And make sure those cousins of yours stay out of mischief!  
  
Your Own Uncle Bilbo  
  
Frodo put the letter down, grinning from ear to ear. Merry and Pippin both began talking at once, as Frodo had been reading it to them.  
  
Frodo sighed happily, and sat down while they continued on, half listening. He touched the letter reverently, his mind already forming a reply.  
  
FIN  
  
***********************  
  
A/N: Sorry this is so short! I promise future chapters will be longer, as  
the story finds its flow. ^_^  
  
---Mel 


	3. Letter Two Bilbo

Letter Two--Bilbo  
  
A/N: Arwen was in Lothlorien at the time this chapter takes place, but  
since this is an AU, I am taking the liberty of having her visiting her father then. To reply to Shirebound's review, the secret of how the letters are making their way from Bilbo to Frodo and back will be revealed in time.  
)  
  
Bilbo walked slowly through the large center garden of Imladris, marveling at the flowers that surrounded him. There were so many, some familiar, and some beautiful and elvish that he had never before seen. He couldn't help thinking of home again, and his dear nephew, when he look at the roses that were Frodo's favorite, and held one tenderly.  
  
"Bell would love these gardens...the Gaffer would find them far too unusual and elvish!" Bilbo chuckled to himself.  
  
After his walk, he made his way to a small bench by a fountain, content to simply marvel at the beauty of the elven city.  
  
"I simply can't fathom how the elves can live in a place so quiet..." he murmured, startled when a lilting voice answered his quiet query.  
  
"How do your folk live with much noise?" Bilbo turned, and to his great surprise, an elf maid was seated next to him, more beautiful than any he had ever seen. Her long black hair rippled down her shoulders and her skin was very pale. She was clothed in a long silver gown, and around her neck was a white jewel like a star on a silver chain. The lady smiled warmly, and spoke again to the startled hobbit.  
  
"Forgive me, sir. I should properly introduce myself." She bowed her head and looked up again, smiling. "I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. It is an honor to meet you, Master Baggins." Bilbo smiled bemusedly in return.  
  
"She looks not much older than my Frodo," he thought, laughing to himself. "What stories I will have to tell him."  
  
"Not as much of an honor as it is to meet you, my lady. And please, call me Bilbo." Bilbo bowed a bit, and stumbled, causing Arwen to laugh. The old hobbit blushed, but smiled.  
  
"To answer your question, Mast---Bilbo, I suppose elves are simply used to the quiet. It *is* very peaceful here, but we are glad to have a halfling among us, especially one of your renown."  
  
"It is wonderful to be here. I've wanted to return ever since the first time I visited...but I needed to go back to the Shire, for a time. I miss it, even now." Bilbo sighed sadly, but quickly cheered again.  
  
"Your father speaks highly of you, my dear. He tells me you are an artist, like your mother." Arwen blushed, and her eyes were a bit sad.  
  
"I sew. I do not match my mother's skill, her paintings, but I enjoy it. When I was younger my mother would let me watch her while she painted, and I would sometimes be allowed to add things to the picture if I wished." Arwen smiled at the vivid memory.  
  
"Do you miss her, my lady?" Arwen blinked, and gave the old hobbit a curious look, sighing delicately.  
  
"No one, not even my father or brothers, has asked me that in quite a long time, Bilbo. The truth is, I do. I miss her greatly. But she could no longer find happiness in Middle Earth, and she will find healing in the Uttermost West."  
  
"But..." Bilbo prompted, smirking slightly.  
  
"But I know I will never again see her. I have had visions; I know what will come to pass. We have had our last parting." Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Arwen's face was resolute, and she fingered the white jewel around her neck. That sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, and soon Arwen smiled again.  
  
"Tell me about where you come from, Bilbo. My father tells me you have a young nephew, Frodo. I would love to meet him someday, from what I have heard." Bilbo grinned proudly.  
  
"Frodo is indeed a remarkable lad. I am so thankful to have him in my life. His childhood was so difficult, when I finally adopted him it was a great relief to us both, I think." Arwen smiled.  
  
"I've come so close to losing him, too many times...His health is very frail, and can be such a burden to him, but I only want him to be well and happy," he continued softly.  
  
"That is all any parent wants for their child," Arwen said soothingly. "It must be a great comfort for him, to know how much you care." Bilbo gazed ahead for a moment, and nodded.  
  
"He is a great comfort to me, as well."  
  
Arwen suddenly closed her eyes, as if deeply in thought, and frowned, sighing to herself  
  
"Frodo's path will not be an easy one; I can see that," she thought to herself, fingering her necklace.  
  
"What is wrong, my lady?" Bilbo asked with concern. Arwen decided to be truthful with the old hobbit, who she was surprised to find she now greatly trusted.  
  
"I have foreseen Frodo's path, Bilbo." The hobbit looked a bit confused, but nodded.  
  
"What did you see?" He asked. Arwen bit her lip.  
  
"He will face hardship, but he will persevere. We will meet, and I will play some part on his road, although I do not know what that will be, yet. That is all I can say." Bilbo nodded seriously.  
  
"I would have guessed that, myself, to be truthful. Frodo is destined for adventure and greater things than the Shire can provide him. He longs to see things even beyond this world. I could see it in his eyes, from the moment he was born. Eyes like the sea..." Bilbo said, ending quietly.  
  
"He will see many things," she smiled. "And he will see you again, of that I am sure."  
  
Bilbo patted her hand, and they sat in companionable silence, white petals and rust colored leaves floating in the breeze.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Later, Bilbo sat in his room, attempting to get some more writing done but feeling strangely distracted. His mind continually drifted back to his conversation with Arwen, and he felt the need to see or speak to his nephew, although he knew he mustn't mention she had told him.  
  
He took out a clean sheet of parchment and removed his quill from its crystal stand. Everything in Rivendell was so much finer than its Shire counterpart, even the paper was shimmering, seemingly flecked with the light of the stars itself.  
  
"It's curious, how such a beautiful place can be so sad..." Bilbo thought, as he dipped his quill in the ink and began to write. Suddenly, though, he heard a knock on his door, and hurried over to it curiously. He rarely received visitors and when he did, they rarely bothered to knock. Bilbo had at first considered it rude, but eventually realized that the elves did not follow such petty formalities and accepted it.  
  
"Who is it?" He asked as her made his way to the large door, made of gleaming white marble.  
  
"It is Glorfindel, Master Hobbit. A letter has arrived for you, from your nephew Frodo."  
  
Bilbo smiled as he opened the door and accepted the letter gratefully. Glorfindel bowed and departed silently. He was an elf of few words, but Bilbo liked him a great deal.  
  
The old hobbit closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of his large bed to read the letter. He opened it carefully with a small knife, and grinned at the familiar handwriting of his beloved Frodo.  
  
Dear Uncle Bilbo,  
  
What a wonderful surprise it was to hear from you! I was quite afraid that we had lost contact, but I realize now that you would never forget to write. I know I can always count on you, uncle, and these letters will be such a comfort.  
  
It is lonely in Bag End without you here, but I am slowly growing used to the quiet. I'm afraid I don't have stories to share that will rival yours, of meeting elvish lords and such, but quite a few things have happened since you left that are of note.  
  
I'm afraid Lobelia is up to her old tricks. She has been sending letter after letter, and calling on me at unreasonable hours of the day, wanting to talk about her supposed right to own Bag End now. Sometimes I wonder why you made me your heir, Bilbo. You certainly have caused me a lot of unnecessary trouble.  
  
The Gamgees are doing well. The Gaffer has officially overturned all of his duties to Sam, and I'm quite happy to see him more often. We have the most wonderful long talks by the garden, and I am spending more time outdoors with him when the weather and my health permit. Merry has informed me I am somewhat of a shut in, and pale as a sheet, and I suppose he's right in that regard. It's simply gotten worse since you've left, but don't worry yourself over me. Things are indeed much the same as usual, and when I fall into a rut I have my friends to help me out of it, thank goodness for that.  
  
How are you, though? I want to hear all about Rivendell, and all of the elves you are meeting. You told me once Lord Elrond has a device he uses to look at the stars closely, a telescope I think you called it. I remember you saying that when you were ill, you spent hours looking at the sky with it, to pass the time. Is it still there? I would love to hear what you can see from where you are. It would be nice to know we are looking at the same stars and moon, however far away we are from each other.  
  
I am sorry for the brevity of this letter, and for my tendency to ramble on. I'm sure that my doings are not of nearly as much interest as the goings on where you are. I miss you greatly, and look forward to your next letter.  
With Very Much Love,  
Your Nephew, Frodo Baggins  
Master of Bag End  
  
PS---It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? -FB  
  
PPS---Sam has asked me to inform you that your vegetables are doing wonderfully, and he plans to plant a new tree in your honor.  
  
Bilbo put down the letter and smiled broadly.  
  
"A tree, hmm? I wonder what kind it will be," he thought to himself.  
  
"I miss that lad dreadfully. Dreadfully."  
  
Bilbo sighed, and began to write again. He hurried to finish, for he had a more important task at hand for later; penning a response to Frodo.  
  
Outside the leaves continued to fall, and the elves went about their business, but inside his room, Bilbo whistled quietly, a flower of home blooming in his heart. 


	4. Interlude One

Interlude One--Dreaming  
Arwen yawned and lay down in her bed. She stared quietly at the ceiling of her bedchamber for a few moments before drifting off, the sounds of the outdoors surrounding her through her open walls. Soon closing her eyes, and began to dream.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
She was in a field, more fresh and beautiful and green than any in her imagination. She could practically smell it, the scent of spring, childhood, and new rain. It wasn't at all like Rivendell; it didn't have the air of sadness she never even realized was there; it felt light and happy.  
  
"Childhood..." she thought to herself. Looking down, she wasn't surprised to see she was indeed a child again, but *was* surprised to note her bare feet were rough, larger, and covered in curly brown hair. She smiled to herself, and instinctively got up, following the urge to see what lay ahead. It was a dream, after all, and nothing could harm her.  
  
Soon Arwen, or whoever she was now, had reached a large rustic structure that appeared to consist of many round doors in a sort of tunnel complex. She walked to the largest one and opened it, reaching up on her tiptoes to turn the round gold knob.  
  
As soon as she opened the door, she was swept up in a flurry of hobbits, more than she had ever seen in her life. There seemed to be some kind of a commotion, but before she could make sense of it, a large, matronly hobbit maid grabbed her hand.  
  
"Where have you been, you silly girl?" She clucked. "You know it's your turn to keep Master Frodo company today." She sighed. "The poor thing is so lonely, what with his parents gone, and everyone so busy as of late. Not to mention the other lads his age, cousins and whatnot, just don't seem to take a liking to him. All except for little Master Merry, of course." She smiled. "Now run along, dear."  
  
By now, a confused Arwen and the woman, who had hurried off leaving her alone, had reached a large door that she pushed on to reveal an even larger bedroom inside.  
  
"Hullo?" Called a small voice from the bed in the center of the room. As Arwen walked closer she noticed there was dark haired hobbit lad sitting on on it. His skin was milk white and his eyes were large and blue. They gazed at Arwen like liquid sapphires, seeming to see straight through her. He gave her a queer look, and smiled shyly. She felt strangely peaceful and dreamlike.  
  
"You're not a hobbit, are you?" He asked. She shook her head and spoke gently, trying not to frighten him.  
  
"No," Arwen replied, taking his small hand in hers. Suddenly her dreamscape changed, the bedroom dissolving around them. They were transported back to Rivendell, now sitting on the same garden bench Bilbo and Arwen had talked on previously. Arwen had returned to her normal age and was an elf again, but Frodo looked much as he had before. She wondered for a moment why he wasn't older.  
  
"What is your name?" He asked suddenly, without a moment's hesitation. She grinned broadly. She already loved this small, unusual lad; looking more like an elf than a hobbit.  
  
"I am Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Lord Elrond; the ruler of Imladris." Frodo nodded eagerly.  
  
"I have heard of you, my lady. Bilbo told me stories of Rivendell. He wishes he could meet you, and so did I. But now you are here...I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing myself." Arwen laughed melodiously.  
  
"Do not worry, Frodo," Arwen said gently, "you are not. I am just as pleased to meet you."  
  
"I sense he is different..." she thought to herself as she watched a smile fill his pale face. "Not only does he resemble our kind in fairness, but he is not like his kin in spirit. Like a silver moon among golden suns."  
  
"Where do you live, melon nin? Who looks after you?" Arwen asked. Bilbo had told her nothing of Frodo's history, and now she had a chance to hear it from the lad himself.  
  
"I live at Brandy Hall. My Aunt Esme and and Uncle Saradoc look after me, but they have baby Merry now." He smiled sadly. "I sometimes get to stay with Uncle Bilbo. I wish I could live at Bag End all the time..." Arwen just smiled knowingly and nodded.  
  
Suddenly, Frodo looked at her as if entranced. She noticed the white jewel around neck was glowing brightly, releasing a blinding light like a star. She ran her finger across its smooth surface, as the light filled the sky and enveloped them. Arwen took one last look at Frodo, before he disappeared in the white light and was gone.  
  
***************************************************  
  
"What---" Arwen awoke with a start, clutching the jewel around her neck. It suddenly felt very heavy. She looked around, mind still fuzzy from sleep, and tried to recall her dream. The pieces were slipping from her already, but the image of large blue eyes, sad and wise beyond their years, bore into her mind. She sighed deeply and lay back down.  
  
"Eyes like the sea..." Arwen whispered to herself as sleep took her once more. She had no more dreams that night.  
  
***************************************************************  
Elsewhere at that moment, Frodo Baggins awoke from where he lay on a grassy field, rolling over in his sleeping sack and running his finger through his hair in amazement. He had just had a fantastic dream that he could barely remember, and was troubled.  
  
"Mr. Frodo? Are you all right?" Sam mumbled, sitting up in his own sack, where the two lads had been camping out under the stars. It was a beautiful night; with seemingly more stars than sky overlooking Hobbiton.  
  
"Yes, Sam," Frodo murmured, smiling. "I had the most amazing dream, but all I can remember now is an elf maid with dark hair, and a beautiful white light...the sound of waves..." Sam still looked concerned and put his hand on his best friend's shoulder.  
  
"I'm all right now, truly," he smiled. "Come on; let's get back to sleep. Tomorrow we'll need our energy to go apple picking." Sam smiled.  
  
"That's true, Mr. Frodo! All right then. Sleep well, and sweet dreams." Sam rolled over and closed his eyes, falling quickly asleep.  
  
Frodo remained awake for a few more moments, staring at the pale moon in the dark sky and feeling strangely sad. He soon brushed it off, and smiling at his snoring friend, drifted off to a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night. 


	5. Letter Three Frodo

Letter Three--Frodo  
  
It was a crisp, clear morning in early October when Frodo received Bilbo's latest letter. He found it on his breakfast table when he awoke, and smiled broadly.  
  
"Sam must have brought it in," he thought. As if one cue, Sam called to Frodo from the garden outside. Frodo leaned out the window, smiling.  
  
"Good mornin' Mr. Frodo. Just thought I'd get an early start on the weedin' today. I'll be in soon to make your breakfast." Frodo laughed.  
  
"Oh, Sam, thank you so much, but I really think I can manage it myself." Sam looked at Frodo curiously and shook his head.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, I insist. It's the least I can do, what with you not havin' Mr. Bilbo here any more to look after things, an' all. Begging your pardon, sir."  
  
"Well, if you insist. I do love your apple hotcakes," Frodo smiled.  
  
Soon Sam was finished, and breakfast was prepared. Frodo insisted that he stay to enjoy his spoils, and the gardener complied happily.  
  
"Oh, Sam, one of these letters is from Bilbo, did you see?" Sam grinned broadly. "Here, I'll read it." Sam nodded eagerly, and began to listen as Frodo opened the envelope and gently unfolded the parchment.  
  
My Frodo,  
  
It is truly wonderful to hear from you again. You can be *sure* I would never forget about you, or lose contact. You mean too much to me, dear boy. It is good to know things are going well at Bag End, but please do not spend so much time worrying over affairs and the like. Just ignore Lobelia, she's bound to go away sooner or later. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for years...  
  
Do "ramble on"! Your doings are of as much interest to me as a thousand elvish stories. And tell Merry I quite agree with him. I know how you are, Frodo, and I don't want you becoming an old shut in like me! Enjoy yourself, and have some fun. Just because you have come of age doesn't mean you're an adult yet. You've always acted much too mature, and it does makes me worry a bit, but I think it will serve you well in the future.  
  
As for Elrond's telescope, how clever of you to remember! I'll have to ask him if I can have a peek in it. He's been very busy of late, with some seemingly rather serious business I won't even pretend to understand, and I do not want to distract him with a whim. He can be quite severe, you know. There's elves for you; merry as children and one moment and grave as death the next. And I thought our own kind could be difficult to understand!  
  
I must tell you of a wonderful event that occurred a few weeks ago: I have been blessed with the friendship of Arwen Undomiel, Lord Elrond's daughter. She is a sweet, lovely girl, and the supposed vision of Luthien rekindled. I would hope you should someday meet her, my boy, she reminds me much of you in her demeanor and ways.  
  
Arwen plans to leave with her father in a few weeks time to visit her kin in Lothlorien, the Golden Wood. I have heard almost nothing about it, surprisingly, and I doubt that many elves here besides Elrond and his children have been there. Arwen's brothers (twins, would you believe?) spend most of their time out hunting and are very quiet, not much interested in an old hobbit like me. But I shall miss Arwen when she leaves, I admit. It *is* far too silent here, even with how many elves surround me constantly, and a bit disconcerting. I plan to attempt to make conversation with Glorfindel, Elrond's stalwart attendant. He is the only one here besides Arwen who shows any real spirit, even though he rarely speaks. I have been working on my Elvish, as although I considered myself fluent, what I know does not pass for muster here. I encourage you to keep studying it as well; you never know when you may need it, Frodo.  
  
Anyhow, if there is one who rambles on, I suppose it would be me. I have not much more to tell, now, so I send you all of my love,  
  
Your Own Uncle Bilbo  
  
Sam grinned with delight when the letter was finished, as did Frodo, although he seemed strangely distant.  
  
"Just think, Mr. Frodo! All those elves, and Mr. Bilbo meetin' Lord Elrond's daughter! How exciting. I wish I could go see it for myself, right now..." Sam rambled on delightedly and Frodo nodded happily, but his mind was somewhere else.  
  
"Arwen," he thought. "That name seems so familiar..." He shook his head. "Another one of my silly fancies, no doubt."  
  
But the nagging though wouldn't leave him as the two hobbits cleaned up, and even through the rest of the day. After breakfast, Frodo and Sam went outside to the brisk, windy fall day. The trees had changed into their fiery autumn hues, and the crisp smell of burning leaves floated towards them. The two friends were planning on making a dent in the mess that was Bag End's inside and outside, and the prospects did not look good.  
  
"Honestly," Frodo shook his head, absentmindedly tossing his knit scarf over one shoulder. "Shouldn't we wait until *spring* to clean all of this up?" He was helping Sam gather logs to put on the fire, so they would be nice and cozy inside the rather drafty smial.  
  
"Well, Mr. Frodo," Sam began, grunting as he picked up some heavy logs and kindling and put them in their barrow, "as my mum always said, there's no use in putting off 'till tomorrow what you can do today." Frodo smiled sadly when he noticed Sam's expression darken. His mother had passed away after a bad pneumonia that many in the Shire had been struck with, the previous year. Frodo himself had been badly ill, and didn't learn of Bell's death until much later.  
  
"Bell was amazing, Sam. I loved her like she was my own mum. I know how sad you must be, still. If you ever need to talk...I'll be here." Sam smiled, and Frodo squeezed his shoulder, before picking up some logs and following his friend inside.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
"Is this an important box, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, as he pulled a large brown trunk out from a dusty corner, pushing it to the side when Frodo shook his head. It was mid-afternoon and Frodo and Sam had not even finished clearing out half of the smial.  
  
"If I had known Bilbo was leaving me so many things I would have added a new wing to Bag End," Frodo grumbled, but his eyes were smiling. Sam laughed. The two hobbits were now working on Bag End's master bedroom and boxes and papers were everywhere. So far, nothing of real interest had been found, or at least nothing Frodo hadn't seen before.  
  
"What's this?" Sam asked, from where he was sorting through the large closet. Frodo came over to take a look, and waved his arms to blow the thick dust out of his eyes. He sneezed loudly, and Sam laughed.  
  
"Hmm," Frodo murmured, "I don't recall seeing *this* box before..." Sam wiped off some more dust with a rag, and Frodo examined the lid. It was intricately carved rosewood, with swirls and curves surrounding a delicate silver star. Both lads gasped in awe. Sam looked down, and sighed.  
  
"It's locked, Mr. Frodo." Frodo frowned.  
  
"None of Bilbo's other boxes were..." he said quietly, curiosity reaching a fever pitch.  
  
"I think we might be able to get this open with the large silver key. You know, the one Bilbo always kept in such a safe place on the mantle, and no one could touch? I suppose I can touch it, now. I'll go get it."  
  
Frodo wandered out of the room to fetch the key, all the while myriads of thought spinning in his mind. He felt a strange sense of excitement and foreboding her couldn't explain, but tried to shake it off. Once he reached the master bedroom again, he handed Sam the key with a smile.  
  
"You do the honors, my dear Sam." Sam grinned broadly, and inserted the key into the lock. Both hobbits held their breath, wondering what they would find.  
  
When the lid finally opened the smell of old paper and years gone by flew out strongly, and Frodo fanned the air in front of his face. Peering down, he could see there was a smaller box inside the large chest, just as beautifully carved.  
  
Frodo opened the small box, a gleaming but dulling golden color, with the Baggins family seal on top. Inside there were stacks and stacks of letters, carefully folded and tied with string and ribbon. Frodo gingerly untied the top stack and began to read the first letter out loud.  
  
My Dearest Dodi,  
  
So much has happened this year that I scarcely know where to begin. I suppose I should start with the most important thing: Primula gave birth to a beautiful little boy (on my own birthday, if you would believe it), who she named Frodo. He's a dreadfully thin little thing, all big blue eyes and the whitest skin, with a mop of little dark curls already. He is a spitting image of another tiny babe I remember from so long ago...Primmie and Drogo have had their hands full, as I'm afraid Frodo is a frail little thing, and they fear of losing him before he grows. I already love the boy as if he were my own, and I can tell he will be a special one. He has real spirit, even for only one year. You would be so proud of Primmie, I always knew she would make a wonderful mother.  
  
Missing you each year never gets easier. You would think it would really, and for a time it became monotony and a dreadful numbness...I felt cut off from the world. Why would I ever bother to go adventuring, to do any of the things we planned to do, places we planned to see when we were but tweens? Until my adventure I thought I would live a quiet life, a meaningless life. But I saw then, and I see now, that you would want me to go on. This is what little Frodo has finally made so blindingly clear. That piece of me that you left so raw will never be filled, but it can be soothed. At least, I hope it can, for the sake of myself and your memory, my dearest lass.  
  
Frodo put down the letter abruptly, tears clouding his eyes. Sam looked over at him, and gently put his arm around Frodo as his master dropped his head in his now dusty hands and let out muffled sobs. 


	6. Letter Four Bilbo

Letter Four---Bilbo  
October came in Rivendell as slowly as a late moonrise, and when it did it was the loveliest October Bilbo could ever remember. The trees turned golden brown and burnt red, but kept the strange sheen that they always had, a truly elvish star-dusted silver. The weather, as usual, was pleasantly cool, and the skies were a toasted almond and a sleepy gray- blue, dotted with cottony clouds and few storms. Yes, it was one of the most beautiful seasons Bilbo had seen, but he was deeply unhappy, for reasons he kept to himself.  
  
Because of this, he was more than delighted when Frodo's newest letter arrived, until he read it through. He suddenly knew he had much still to tell his beloved nephew that should never have been kept from him.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo," the letter began,  
  
Sam and I were clearing out Bag End's master bedroom today, and we found a trunk I'd never seen before. We found letters inside, piles and piles of them. There were letters to my mother and father from when they were alive, and other rather commonplace ones, but we also found letters to a Dodinas Brandybuck. Who is she? I want to know, uncle. Did you love her? What happened to her? I read about myself in those letters, and I know it's silly...but I'd like to apologize.  
  
You've had so many years of worry and grief on my part, as had my parents, and I never even realized the extent. I want to thank you again, Uncle Bilbo, for taking me in so long ago and adopting me. I can't imagine my life without you, truly, and I am more grateful than I can say. I know I couldn't have been the easiest tween to take care of, and my frequent illnesses must have put a great strain on you. That was your time you should have had for yourself, for writing your book and adventuring, not for spending your time caring for a sickly, orphaned hobbit lad. The more I miss you, the more I seem to remember this. I am so lucky to have you and Sam and all of my family and friends to look out for me, as much of a trouble as I may be.  
  
I am dreadfully curious about the letters, but there is something even more important I must tell you about...  
  
Sam and I were camping out a few weeks ago (much to Merry's approval, considering my recent label of "shut in,") and I had the strangest dream. It was one of those dreams I used to have when I was younger, the ones that seemed "real". Do you remember when I dreamt of my parents falling into the dark blue void, that night at Bag End? I was so afraid, and you assured me it was just a nightmare. A week later they drowned. I've never forgotten that... This dream was much the same. More bits and pieces come are coming to me, although I can't remember it all...I know there was an elf maiden with the darkest hair, and a beautiful, fair face. She spoke soothing words to me, and I heard the sounds of the sea, and saw a flash of bright light...When I woke I felt so strange, it would be impossible to explain. Uncle Bilbo, I think this elf maid was the Lady Arwen you speak so highly of. I know it is strange, but if it is not too bold, could you ask her if she...dreamt of me, as well? I know it sounds odd, but I have a feeling about it that I can't fathom...It almost feels like it was magic, but a sad type of magic...Listen to me go on! I suppose I am just as queer as people say. ("People" mostly being the S-Bs and Merry, when he is feeling his cheekiest...which is often.)  
  
As for the other, less elvish, happenings lately...The harvest festival preparations are going well, and the pumpkin Sam was helping me grow may take first prize! I must say, I'm dreadfully proud of it. Pippin commented to me that he could fit inside with room to spare, and I believe it's true! What a sight that would be. I just hope he and Merry won't take that idea too far...You never do know, with those two...  
  
Goldie Gamgee and Tom Cotton have begun to let their friendship grow into love, and I couldn't be happier for them. I know that poor lass has been mooning over me for ages, and I really hadn't the heart to tell her to stop. But Tom is a good, reliable fellow, and I think they are going to get on very well. I know Sam is as happy as can be about it. He *is* very protective of her, but he does like Tom a great deal, so I believe he approves. There is another Cotton I believe he likes much more than Tom, but now I am being far too bold...  
  
I think of you all the time, and I plan to send you something of home soon, since I believe you must crave more than letters. One thing you can be sure of getting is one of the many scarves, hats, or warm coats I seem to have been receiving from everywhere as of late. I suppose one or two are enough, but everyone seems to be worried about me, with how cold it has been lately, and as Lobelia so lovingly stated "that Brandybuck being such a *delicate* thing". I believe tact is a word she has yet to learn. I hope it isn't as cold in Imladris...We are even expecting snow, by the prediction of Old Noakes! Snow in October, imagine!  
  
Anxiously Awaiting Your Reply,  
  
Your Loving Nephew,  
  
Frodo  
  
PS---Sam would like to know, for his own reference, what flowers grow in Rivendell. I told him I would be sure to ask you. ---FB  
  
Bilbo smiled, his eyes tearing up a bit, until he laughed. Shaking his head, he sighed. "That dear lad..."  
  
"I have to explain to him; sooner or later...I might as well begin now." Bilbo smiled as his stomach rumbled.  
  
"But first...I believe it's time for elevenses."  
  
***************************************************************  
  
The elves in Rivendell did not, as you would assume, eat elevenses, or any other meals besides the basic three a day (and much to Bilbo's shock, sometimes less!). But since the famous hobbit was now among them, they had learned to accommodate his strange snacking schedule. When Bilbo wandered into the great dining hall to find himself something to eat, clutching his letter and some paper and a quill in one hand, he was surprised to find he wasn't entirely alone.  
  
A tall, golden-haired elf Bilbo immediately recognized as Glorfindel. He smiled and sat down across from him at the large table, and received a small grin in return. It was then that Bilbo noticed the quill in the elf's hand, and the papers surrounding him. He laughed.  
  
"Writing some letters too, eh?" Glorfindel smiled at the old hobbit.  
  
"Yes, in fact I am. To my kin, my sister and her husband. They live far from here, and soon they will depart Middle Earth forever..." He looked sad. Bilbo didn't know what to say, so he attempted to lighten the mood.  
  
"I was sure I was the only one who would be in the kitchens at this time...could I ask why you chose to write here?" Glorfindel laughed.  
  
"It is quiet. All of the other rooms of the House would be full of elves, wandering in and out...I prefer to have my own space to write, and I always find the kitchens to be...rather homely." Bilbo smiled at him, and the two went back to their letters in relative silence, punctured only by Bilbo's occasional munching into his apple, bread, and red cheese.  
  
"You are writing to your nephew, are you not?" Glorfindel asked, looking up. Bilbo nodded.  
  
"You speak so highly of him, and Lady Arwen has told me she hopes to meet him...I must admit I do as well. You are the only hobbit I have ever met, and I am sure this is true for most elves here. You Halflings are truly extraordinary creatures."  
  
Bilbo blushed. "Th-thank you, Master Glorfindel. But we really are not...we are just simple Shire hobbits, although that is enough for me," he smiled, offering Glorfindel a bit of apple.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Later that night, Bilbo looked at his letter long and hard. Sighing deeply, he placed it in the envelope and sealed it with gold wax. It seemed so final, but he knew he was doing the right thing.  
  
"Frodo has to know everything," he thought resolutely. "He needs to understand...about her."  
  
Outside Bilbo's quarters, the October night grew cold, and Bilbo felt as if it seeped into his very soul, as he thought about what the letter contained, and what the next day would bring. 


	7. Interlude Two Reflecting

Interlude Two---Reflecting  
It was morning in Lothlorien, and Arwen sat patiently in a wooded grove, doing what she loved best. She smiled as the delicate needle tucked under the thick green fabric and formed a perfect loop of thread.  
  
All around her the sounds of the Golden Wood made her work pleasant, and the bright sunlight shone on her fair face. She was like this when Galadriel found her, sitting down quietly so as not to disturb her granddaughter's work. When Arwen finished her row of stitches she noticed the tall elf next to her, golden waves of hair shimmering in the dappled light, and smiled. Arwen and Galadriel were quite close, and it was Galadriel who had given Arwen the title of Evenstar...the elves' last grace before they departed Middle Earth forever.  
  
Arwen smiled and put down her sewing, beads sparkling on her long lilac sleeve. Galadriel smiled back at her, blue eyes twinkling.  
  
"What are you working on?" Galadriel asked.  
  
Arwen fingered the thick cloth lovingly and grinned slightly, securing the brass buttons attached.  
  
"I am making a winter cloak...for Frodo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins's nephew. I am sure he has one already, but this elvish cloth will keep him especially warm and protected." She frowned a bit. "Bilbo has told me Frodo can fall...very ill, easily. I want him to be warm; in that case...winter in the Shire will be very harsh, this year." Galadriel nodded.  
  
"That is true...I can feel it is so. You have some foresight, Arwen. Not as much as your father and mother have...but a good deal of the ability..." Galadriel finished quietly. Arwen looked at her seriously, putting her cloth and threads aside.  
  
"There is something I must tell you of, Daernaneth," she said quietly. "Something quite strange that occurred a few weeks ago...I have told no one of it, and I believe it is of some importance."  
  
"A few weeks ago I had the most unusual dream. More bits and pieces come are coming to me, although I cannot remember it all...I know there was an hobbit lad with the darkest hair, and a beautiful, fair face. He spoke to me, and I heard the sounds of the sea, and saw a flash of bright light coming from my jewel when I awoke...Daernaneth, I think this lad was Frodo Baggins. I do not know how I know, but I feel it in my heart that our fates will be intertwined, somehow."  
  
Galadriel listened patiently, and smiled a bit. Suddenly she got up; reaching for the silver pitcher that rested behind her. Arwen followed, heart in her throat.  
  
"The mirror," she said simply. Galadriel nodded. Arwen had only looked in her grandmother's mirror once, when she was very young. She had seen dark things...flame, fire, and smoke. Celebrian had comforted and scolded her, but she had been more curious than afraid. Since then, Arwen had tried to curb her wonderings and fears of what she might see in it if she looked again, but had never told Galadriel of her desire.  
  
Arwen watched as Galadriel poured the clear, sparkling liquid she had taken from the stream into the silver basin on its stone pedestal. As she leaned closer she noticed the water seemed to emit a heat, curling her dark hair. She had not yet looked into it, but Galadriel motioned for her to do so, and she gazed deeply into the pool.  
  
The water emitted steam, and began to change, turning a soft gold and opening like a curtain, although it would appear to onlookers not to have moved at all. Arwen was astounded. She did not feel afraid, but strangely peaceful and expectant. Her jewel grew hot and heavy on it's chain.  
  
The gold water changed to silver, and soon a picture took shape, clear as if she was seeing it as it was happening. A frail-looking hobbit lad swaddled in blankets and feverishly coughing rested in an old hobbit's arms as he sang softly. Arwen gasped, as she recognized the older hobbit as Bilbo, and the melody as one she had heard before...her mother sang it to her when she was young.  
  
"Lay down, your sweet and weary head...  
  
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end.  
  
Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before.  
  
They are calling, from across the distant shore.  
  
Why do weep? What are these tears upon your face?  
  
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away, safe in my arms,  
you're only sleeping."  
  
Arwen felt tears gather in her eyes, as the image faded. It was all she needed to see. She knew the lad in the mirror, and in her dream, had been Frodo Baggins. And somehow, in her heart, she knew what part she would play in his future. She fingered her jewel and looked up at Galadriel, an unreadable expression in her eyes.  
  
"He will cross the sea," she said simply. "He is not like the other Shire folk; he will not stay in Middle Earth. Frodo will take my place."  
  
Galadriel nodded and put her hand on Arwen's shoulder as the girl sat down and looked ahead, tears now freely spilling from her eyes.  
  
"A light comes from him, like the light of the elves," she said. "But that light will someday fade...As will mine." She looked up at Galadriel seriously.  
  
"The light of the Valar touches those who are worthy," she murmured, almost to herself.  
  
They sat together, unanswered questions filling the air between them, and the bright sunlight dappling the grove. In the distance both heard the sound of waves.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Frodo stood in the back garden of Bag End looking at his pumpkin with a satisfied expression on his wind-burned face. The chill autumn breeze blew around him, but inside his cousins and Sam were waiting for him with mugs of hot cider. Smiling, he turned around, and to his surprise found Pippin behind him. Beckoning the lad over, he put his arm around him and they admired the garden happily.  
  
"It's almost ready to cut off the vine," Frodo said. Pippin grinned.  
  
"I can't wait until the festival, I'm sure you're going to win, Frodo!" He replied brightly. Frodo smiled slightly, but sighed.  
  
"What is it?" Pippin asked. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Just...reflecting. I was thinking...Pippin; do you think I'm...different?"  
  
Pippin looked confused and nodded slowly.  
  
"Of course you're different, Frodo. You...have a light," he said matter-of-factly. Now it was Frodo's turn to be confused.  
  
"What do you mean, Pip?" He asked. Pippin sighed as one who always had to explain, and Frodo couldn't help laughing a bit.  
  
"I mean...You remind me of the sun when it hits the water, Fro. You're not like other hobbits, like Merry and Sam and me. Bilbo called us earthy, but I don't think you're like that...at least, not completely." Frodo shook his head, aghast.  
  
"It's not a bad thing!" Pippin quickly added. Frodo just pulled his cousin closer and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Pippin laughed and returned it. They didn't need to say anything at all, and walked back inside Bag End hand in hand. 


	8. Letter Five Frodo

Letter Five---Frodo  
  
This chapter dedicated to my Frodo, Gaya, who I love, whether or no.  
  
Frodo smiled. He sat on a white beach, staring out to the sea, and he was at peace. The wind ruffled his dark hair and a salty breeze tickled his delicate nose. He sighed happily and lay back down, but suddenly the happy feeling vanished, and his whole body felt heavy, as if filled with rocks. The beautiful scene around him began to fade into darkness, and Frodo thought he could hear the strains of a soft voice whispering to him before it was completely gone.  
  
Frodo opened his eyes with a start, and let out a groan. His body felt sore and achy all over, and he was chilled to the bone, but drenched in sweat. He noticed Sam standing over him and managed to croak out a hullo.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, thank goodness you're awake," Sam said, looking relieved. "Do you remember last night at all?" Frodo looked around him and noticed he was lying not in his own bed, but in the spare bedroom of Number Three Bagshot Row. Frodo shook his head in confusion.  
  
"No...I don't recall anything from last night, Sam," Frodo said slowly, "All I do know is that I feel *awful*." He coughed wetly and sunk further into his pillows. Sam brought a cool cloth to his forehead and gently wiped it down. Frodo sighed.  
  
"I was hopin' you'd be feeling better this morning, but I suppose you're not," Sam frowned. "I came to Bag End last evening to borrow some flour for May, she was bakin' a cake, and I found you passed out and feverish in the kitchen. I took you here, beggin' your pardon, because I thought you'd be more comfortable. Bag End is so drafty, and I didn't want you to catch another chill on top of it all. I'm thinking you've come down with somethin' bad...but I couldn't really be sure. The Gaffer went to fetch the healer; he and I are the only ones home, so for now you just rest, sir." Frodo sighed, and coughed again, his thin body shaking. Sam brought a cup to his lips, and he took a grateful sip.  
  
"It's elderflower and slippery elm for you cough," he explained. Frodo finished with it and put down the mug weakly, with a slight clatter.  
  
"Thank you, Sam..." he murmured. "I remember a little bit, now...I felt ill, and went to kitchen to make a pot of tea, but then I felt dizzy. The next thing I remember I was here," Frodo finished. "Although I suppose that doesn't help much." He closed his eyes and took a long breath, but Sam could hear his deep congestion. At that moment the Gaffer entered the room, with the Healer Juniper Boffin. She was a plump, graying hobbit maid with a friendly face, and smiled at Frodo warmly.  
  
"Hamfast tells me you're feeling poorly, Mr. Frodo," she said conversationally, as Frodo nodded and she began her examination. She carefully felt Frodo's forehead, checked his mouth, nose, and ears, and did a variety of other pokes and prods to the tired, ill hobbit.  
  
"Could you cough for me, lad?" She asked. Frodo coughed loudly and wetly, and the healer frowned.  
  
"Do you feel hot, Frodo?" She asked. Frodo shook his head.  
  
"No...I'm quite cold," he murmured, wrapping the blankets tightly around himself.  
  
"It's just as I thought," murmured Juniper with a sigh. "It's indeed the Harvest Ague...the cough and the fever prove it." She looked at Frodo and the concerned Gamgees in turn.  
  
"It's quite dangerous, especially for someone with your constitution, Frodo. I know you were ill around this time last year with the Ague, as well, so I suppose you know the gist of it...Be sure to get lots of rest, and don't do anything strenuous for a while...Drink lots of the teas I'll give you, and try to eat foods that won't be hard on your stomach. Keep warm or cool, as you need it...lavender in your baths will help your cough and clear out the congestion..."  
  
"How long is a while?" Frodo interrupted his tone suddenly angry. "A week, a month, a year? How long will I be in bed...weeks on end, like last time? I have a life, Healer Boffin...and it seems bed is where I'm spending most of it. I'm tired of it...I'm just so tired." Sam bit his lip and the Gaffer shook his head. The healer woman sighed.  
  
"Frodo..." she began again, but he continued, pushing himself up with all of his strength, his voice hoarse and harsh.  
  
"Do you know," he began, "That autumn is the only time of year I'm truly free? The only time of year I'm not sniffling or sneezing or stuck in bed with some cough of flu? And now you're telling me I'll have to stay indoors for who knows how long, and miss everything, once more. You would think I'd be used to it, wouldn't you? You think I'm just another one of your sickly patients who will suffer bravely and become some sort of pitied martyr. But I'm not, Healer Boffin. I'm sorry."  
  
Frodo got up and with the last of his strength, walked out, blanket clutched around his slight frame, and exited the smial, closing the round yellow door behind him, leaving three stunned hobbits blinking and soon in a frenzy.  
"Samwise!" The Gaffer cried. "Go get him, lad! Hurry!"  
  
"He can't get very far," Juniper muttered. "But we'd all best go after him." She got up, but Sam shook his head.  
  
"I know what to do, don't worry. When Mr. Frodo gets in his moods like this, the only one he'll talk to...is me. I've got to, and alone, beggin your pardon. I'll bring him back as quick as I can, I promise."  
  
"Well, then," the Gaffer said, "Hurry, Sam-lad, hurry!" Sam wasted no time, pulling on his cloak and running out the door as fast as his short legs could carry him into the cold morning.  
  
***  
  
Sam knew instinctively where his friend would be, as soon as he went outside. Soon he reached the Party Field he found his suspicions were right. Frodo had managed to get that far, much to Sam's amazement, and was collapsed under the Party Tree. It had begun to rain, small, warm droplets, and Frodo was still clad only in his nightshirt and blanket. Sam hurried to his side, and to his surprise, Frodo looked up at him blearily.  
  
"Hullo, Sam," he murmured, as his friend sat him up gently, so he leaned comfortably against Sam's shoulder. The younger lad wrapped his thick, warm cloak around Frodo, who burrowed into it.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, what in the Shire were you thinking???" He exclaimed. The rain dripped steadily in the background, making a pitter-pattering sound and drenching the two hobbits. Frodo sneezed and Sam noticed his eyes and nose were red and running.  
  
"Bless you, sir," he said politely. "But we've got to go back. You'll catch cold out here, if you haven't already. And you don't want to be even more ill..." Frodo interrupted, suddenly filled with the same fury he had shown the healer.  
  
"Of course I don't want to be ill, Sam! All I've ever wanted my whole life was to be healthy and *normal* just like everyone else! Don't you see? No, of course you don't. You wouldn't understand. The whole year for me is filled with illness...it was so much easier when Bilbo was here. But it's not, easy anymore, Sam, no matter how many teas and herbs and steams and handkerchiefs you can give me. It's not being ill once or twice, Sam. It's *always* being ill. It shapes my whole life...and sometimes I think it's the only thing I'm good at. In the winter I can't spend all day in the snow like you can, in the spring I can't go out and garden with you without sneezing my nose off...simple flowers, Sam. I'm denied even that. Even that." Sam was in tears now too, and he rubbed Frodo's back soothingly, seeing his master was clearly tired out after sharing so much with him. He decided to say something, although he didn't know what just yet.  
  
"Mr. Frodo...why didn't you tell me you felt like this? If it's...was it what Lobelia said a little while ago, about you being...delicate? Don't let what she says get to you, sir. And, you're good at so many things, Mr. Frodo...You taught me all about the elves, and how to cook the perfect mushroom omelet...what the names of all the stars are. You're my best friend, Mr. Frodo," he finished quietly. "I don't care a mite if you're sick or well. It's just the way things are. But I'll try harder to help you. Maybe this year we can plant some flowers that don't aggravate your sneezin'...and I'll try to spend some more time indoors, with you, so you're not lonely. How does that sound?" Frodo sighed as Sam hugged him to his chest as if Frodo was a little lad, and smiled a bit.  
  
"Sam...thank you. For everything. Oh, Sam..." he sobbed. "I don't deserve you as a friend, I truly don't. You shouldn't have to do those things...you should be playing and planting and enjoying yourself, not spending all your time with a useless old sick hobbit..." Sam shushed him, and smiled.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, I'd rather spend time with you than anyone else, you know that. Now rest, and your Sam will help you. Let's go back to Bagshot Row, and you can get some sleep and a nice hot bath. I'm sure you'll feel better when you wake up. All right?" Frodo nodded.  
  
"All right," he said. "Or I suppose I'll catch my death out here, is that what you're thinking, Sam?" Sam blushed, and mumbled something about the rain, putting his arm around Frodo as the two began their walk home.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the day went quickly for everyone involved. Sam brought the sleeping Frodo in silently, and the whole room seemed to be filled with relief. Healer Boffin stayed to help out, as did the girls and Hal when they returned. After a hot, gentle bath and a change of linens, Frodo lay down for a well-deserved sleep. Sam told everyone what Frodo had said, and a collective guilt seemed to settle on the Gamgees, who were now sitting together in the kitchen while the healer worked alone. Hal spoke up first.  
  
"I suppose it's partially my fault he feels that way...I'm always telling him he can't keep up with me...Ham was too, before he left for Uncle Andy's. It must have made him feel bad. I didn't know he was so upset."  
  
"Aye," the Gaffer said quietly. "I wasn't too easy on the lad sometimes, either. He might have heard Daddy Twofoot call him a little changeling when we were talking the other day..." Goldie gasped and banged her fist on the table.  
  
"Daddy Twofoot is a fat old hog!" She exclaimed. "I'm going to give him an earful when I next see 'im..." Sam couldn't help laughing a little, as he tried to calm Goldie down.  
  
"Goldie-love, I think perhaps you should let Daddy Twofoot be. He's only a stupid old ninnyhammer, anyhow." Goldie frowned, sinking into her chair.  
  
"The point is, I guess," Daisy said softly, "It's all out faults. We knew Mr. Frodo was different...we just have to stop treating him like he is. It sounds like that's all he wants, really." The Gaffer smiled.  
  
"Those are wise words, lass, and I think we'd all be smart to follow them." There were murmurs of agreement all around the table, followed by a silence, until May spoke up.  
  
"I got the post earlier, from Bag End. There's a letter from Mr. Bilbo, I think. It's all silvery like his always are, anyway. Maybe it'll cheer Mr. Frodo up," she smiled. Sam took it from her and scanned the writing.  
  
"It is from Mr. Bilbo! I'll bring it to him now...and tell you if he's doing better. I don't think the healer will want us all in at once." The Gaffer nodded.  
"Go on, Sam-lad," he said gently.  
  
***  
  
As Sam entered the spare room he was overcome with the scent of a strong herbal steam. Frodo was leaning over it, seemingly coughing his lungs out, as Juniper told him to breathe in and out. Sam almost wanted to tell her to stop, but she knew this would help Frodo get better.  
  
"How is he doing?" Sam mouthed. The healer woman shook her curly head, as she lay Frodo back down and put the steam aside.  
  
"I don't know," she said. "I'm going to be honest. He is very, very sick. Going out in the rain like that wasn't wise at all, Mr. Frodo," she smiled at him. Clearly he had heard it before.  
  
"'m sorry," he croaked. The older hobbit woman just pushed damp curls off his forehead and wiped his face down with a cool cloth.  
  
"Well now, what have you got there?" She said changing the subject. Frodo glanced up at Sam and smiled at the familiar envelope.  
  
"Oh, Sam. Is it from Bilbo?" Sam nodded, as he handed it to his friend, smiling. Frodo ripped it open straightaway and began to read.  
  
My Dearest Boy,  
  
I hope this letter finds you well. Have you been taking care of yourself? Sometimes I feel as if I know you're not, and it worries me. I hope you will be all right, my lad, but I have more important things to tell you, now. A part of my life I've kept from you, and you deserve to know about it straightaway and from the beginning...about Dodi.  
  
Dodinas Brandybuck would have been your mother's older sister, and your aunt, if she were alive today. She was my cousin, and I loved her, Frodo. I loved her from the first moment I laid eyes of her. We were love struck teens...we didn't realize how quickly everything would disappear. How quickly she would leave us.  
  
Dodi was like you, Frodo. So much like you. She had your eyes, you face, your laugh. She used to sing, and it was more beautiful than the music of the elves. Her voice was so strong, but her body was so weak. She would fall ill so often, and didn't have many friends at the Hall as a result, but I would visit her as often as I could. She was bright, beautiful, and brilliant. I've never loved anyone as much as her, until you were born, my lad. She was strong like you, even if she was so frail. You have gone through so much...illness, pain, and hardship...I didn't adopt you out of charity, Frodo. I adopted you because you have spirit. Your body is weak but your spirit *soars*. Don't forget that, ever. I feel somehow you need to hear it, right now.  
  
As for the letters...It seems silly, but I still write to her, every year. Just a simple list of happenings throughout the year, things that would have made her smile. I like to think somewhere she's still looking down on both of us, perhaps with you dear mother right beside her, and smiling at what a wonderful lad you've become. I know she is, somehow. I never told you about her, I suppose, for the same reason I should have. You are so much like her, there are so many times I almost lost you...I didn't want to think you'd end up like her. I didn't want you to be afraid. But, I know better, now. You're stronger than that, my lad. So much stronger than I ever thought.  
  
I will be sure to ask the Lady Arwen about your dream, as soon as she returns. It's quite a fascinating problem, but I hope the dreams aren't causing you too much trouble. If it is her, I'm sure that she will bring you peace and friendship, and nothing else. I do love that elf lass dearly, and I have much to tell her when she returns.  
  
I hope you have wonderful time at the harvest festival, and that your pumpkin takes first place! Remember I am very proud of you, my dear boy.  
  
All My Love,  
  
Your Own Uncle Bilbo  
  
Frodo put down the letter and blinked back tears. He shook his head, and ignored the concerned stares of the two other hobbits in the room as he began to cough, shaking and crying at the same time. Sam came over and patted his back gently until he stopped. Frodo looked up and sighed sadly, but his face broke into a small smirk.  
  
"Well, Sam, I was just thinking...I don't suppose I'll make the harvest festival this year, will I?" Sam couldn't help but smile a little.  
  
"No, sir, I don't suppose you will."  
  
That night, Frodo dreamed of Arwen, standing on the same peaceful shores he had seen before. With her was a tweenaged hobbit lass who had his blue eyes and fair features, holding the elf maid's hand. They seemed to beckon to him, and he felt happy; finally free of pain for a fleeting night. In his sleep Frodo smiled. 


End file.
